


An Infinite Number Of Faces

by NixieD



Category: James Bond (Movies)
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexuality, Canonical Character Death, Derogatory Language, Multi, Other, Unhappy Ending, asexual character having sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-30
Updated: 2013-06-30
Packaged: 2017-12-16 17:26:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/864665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NixieD/pseuds/NixieD
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Craig!James Bond/person of choice (though Q preferred), Bond is asexual but so used to hiding it that faking sexual attraction has become his norm.</p><p>He'd promised M this wouldn't be a problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Infinite Number Of Faces

**Author's Note:**

> The title is derived from an expression that is used to describe a sphere. I’ve written Bond as a bi-romantic asexual, there is mention of the use of viagra (I’m aware that the majority of asexuals do not require it to maintain an erection, but a few have and I feel with the added pressures it made sense for the plot).

"Is this going to be a problem?"

James stared at the woman across from him, her hands resting over his closed file. Plucked up after leaving the Navy, he's already worked the desk for a year and is itching to get out into the field. He knows there's only one thing holding M back from promoting him, but he'll just have to prove that isn't a problem.

"No ma'am."

"Good." There's a hint of an uneasy smile on her face. "Report to Q branch in the morning."

Tanner's already at his side handing him the folder.

* * *

Despite his best efforts it is an issue, but a switch in deeds has him the in he needs. Unfortunately it doesn't maintain it.

"What are you queer or something?" The brunette lobbed his sore towards his head as he yanked on his trousers, her voice rising. "You one of them, are you?" 

"Too much to drink Allison," he ducked out of the way of the other shoe, hurriedly buckling his belt.

"Filthy liar!" As the lamp shattered behind him, he decided it was better to cut and run, running out the room and shoes and shirt before her screaming brought the attention of the more violent members of the house.

* * *

"Nothing to be ashamed of my boy. Most of the new recruits find it hard in practice than in theory." Q smile at him as he handed over a plan brown vial, pills rattling around inside. "Just one thirty minutes to for hours before use. I'd advise about an hour."

"Speaking from experience?" It rankled to have to resort to this, the annoyance putting bite into his words.

A silver eyebrow arched up at him. "I'm sure you can keep your target entertained if it takes a while to kick in."

* * *

"Oh God, James!" And unfortunate side-effect of taking Viagra. "Yes, yes, _yes_." Was a hideously strong erection that refused to ease. "Uuhhh." Surely had half an hour into the act should have taken the bite out of them? "Oh, oh...Oh!" Muscles clamped around him and he took the opportunity to groan and slump. Perhaps he could hide it until it went down?

Pulling out, he dropped to the side on his front, wincing as he bent. "How long before the husband's back?" Reaching over, he plucked a cigarette packet from his trousers.

"A few hours yet, he's got some meeting going on. Russians or some such rot." She settled against his back, curling her foot between his. "You'll have to smoke that outside, it's not Mitch's brand." 

Crumpling the box slightly, he tossed it down into his trousers. "Well, I'll just have to occupy myself elsewhere." Perhaps he'd get more information after another round.

* * *

Eventually he didn't need the pills, time and repeated stimulus taught his body to respond, even if his mind did go elsewhere. Q branch tried passing them along when M sent him to seduce his first male, but really it wasn't that much difference feigning interest in a man than a woman when you didn't want either.

His indifference only improved his effectiveness; instead of being overwhelmed by the act he kept his mind always on the next objective. Eventually the act became like second nature, getting with co-workers, sleeping with married women, creating a persona of a man who enjoyed the carnality of the act but abhorred commitment. If it weren't for that line in his file he was sure even M would be convinced.

* * *

"Double-o, Bond?" There's his file again, perched under her folded hands. "I'm not quite sure if you're ready for that."

"All due respect ma'am," he knows why she's hesitating, surely after these last few years she knows he can do this. "Why-"

"Why not?" Her brisk tone cuts him off. "This isn't about your preferences, or lack thereof James. We only have a few double o's for a reason, most can't stomach it." She flips open the file. "And we don't have a chemical crutch to help you there." The reminder of the pills grates. "So you'll have to manage without." And he watches as she signs off the newest addition to his file. "Two. Tanner will give you your first assignment when we have one."

His file is flipped shut and deposited on the edge of her desk app a small group of others, it's a dismissal. "Thank you."

* * *

They're right, the first is the hardest. It would have been better if he could have kept his distance, but M's wrong, there is a chemical crutch to help in the aftermath. For the first time since she sent him out to sleep with his first target he gets utterly plastered on scotch too good to be wasted on this.

* * *

The second is infinitely easier, and much more satisfying. He remembers Drydon's smirk as he returned from his first called mission, and the pleasure he derived when he found out about the Viagra. It's also cleaner, what agent wouldn't locate and neutralise their target's weapons. He'd even moved the kitchen knives.

* * *

The usual tactics didn't work with Vespa, she fired back and meet him barb for barb, rebuffing every attempt he made to creep under her skin. Instead something crept under his.

Only after the fight in the hallway did he realise what this was. He'd wrapped his lips around her fingers whilst she'd huddled close, but there'd been nothing more. And later, he'd taken her to bed and she'd merely kissed him, forcing his hands upwards each time they'd wandered down. There'd been want, but not for sex, for closeness, for affection. She'd demanded nothing more and it was a revelation. She stole what was left of his heart that night.

* * *

When Le Chiffre took him, he felt like laughing. The threat to unman him, to render useless that part of his anatomy was nothing; he had Vespa, a woman who wanted nothing from him, one he could leave this life behind with. His only concern was her.

When he'd awoke bandaged and drugged later his only concern was to see her, to be close, he was blind to what he'd later call pity that had lurked in her eyes. Her death hurt, but more than that was the knowledge that she wasn't like him, that she'd merely felt doing more would be more than her boyfriend would be able to forgive.

As he walked out of her boyfriend's flat, he let the last pieces freeze over and swore himself to Queen and country and drink.

* * *

Giving M the run around is entirely to fun to avoid, and really if she wanted him to return to home soil she would have sent a more assertive agent than Miss Fields. She's eager to please and quick to acquiesce to his demands, but there's a lack of urgency behind each kiss. She reminds him of himself; back when he first started as a field agent, keen to do the job, but not really wanting what's required for it. Perhaps that's why he merely slows the kisses and tucks her head into his shoulder. Or maybe he's just getting too old to seduce young agents. Either way he ignores the crack of feeling in response to get first genuine smile since she ran into him.

It's a crack that widens into a chasm when M shows him her body later; she didn't deserve this just because he was too selfish and stupid to leave her alone. She wasn't even supposed to be out in the field.

Times like this, he wished he wasn't such a good fighter and that maybe a few more of the punches had time to land.

* * *

Part of him wanted to shoot Greene, he knew Camille wanted him to. But leaving him to suffer in the desert seemed like a more fitting punishment for Fields.

* * *

Dying was an entirely liberating thing, sure he still had to bed a woman for somewhere to sleep at night, but a gunshot wound tended to discourage too many and too amorous entanglements. Unfortunately England had no time for dead men and with the bombing of MI6 he was on a plane back to England, still drunk from the night before, he barely even stopped drinking before the tests in the morning.

* * *

What followed was hard to comprehend, too many died and there was a change of guard, Mallory was M, Eve had taken a desk job, and he had a child outfitting him for future assignments.

"I'm not building you a new car Bond." The boy hasn't even looked up from his computer; hair flopped forward over his glasses. 

"I need something."

"Use your ingenuity." Dark eyes stared at him through thick lenses. 

"The last Q gave me a car." He tested against the desk, hands tucked into trouser pockets.

"My predecessor had the jag noted as lost in misadventure; I've no doubt you have others tucked away." One hand continued to type whilst the other rose to flutter at him. "Shoo."

Bond smirked and circled the desk, leaning down to mutter into Q's ear. "I like the old Q better; he was a lot sassier." The smirk stayed on his face as he watched the flush rise on Q's cheeks.

"Get out Bond or your next car will be a smart car."

* * *

"Your new assignment, report to Q branch eight thirty sharp for outfitting." The folder was surprisingly thick, perhaps M was more find of the supplementary information being on paper rather than providing a secure electronic file. But then the Silva incident was only a few months old, caution was to be expected.

Heading up to the fourth floor, he named to find one of the few offices set aside for the double-o division and propped his feet up to begin reading. It wasn't pleasant. A human trafficking organisation directed from London and operating in Ukraine, there was no way it wouldn't be messy.

* * *

"Little git!” The flight over had been barely tolerable and now he knew why Q had looked so smug during the outfitting that morning. The bugger had saddled him with a bloody Skoda.

“Sorry sir, Q branch advised that it was the best for the purpose.”

Shaking his head, he turned back to his contact. “I’m sure they did.” A quick glance around gave him his bearings and he was off waving down a taxi. “Keep up Letts.”

* * *

“This isn’t very discrete sir.”

“Relax, Letts.” James practically prowled the showroom, weaving between Aston Martins and Lamborghinis. “I’ll get it in black.” He smirked as the agent failed to swallow his whine.

* * *

The mission proceeded smoothly until it all went tits up, but the traffickers who survived were on their way to cosy cells, Letts was firmly back in the grasp of MI6’s foreign office nursing a broken wrist and Bond… Bond was ensconced on a plane back to England, ribs hastily wrapped along with a poorly stitched knife wound in his thigh. He’d take his licks from the doctors at headquarters and abscond before they could pin him down for physio to pinch Tanner’s bottle of good whisky.

* * *

“Really double-o seven, you didn’t think he wouldn’t have worked out you knew about it and moved it?”

He grit his teeth as he rose from the crouch he’d been in, having stared for several long moments at the recently empty draw, just a note with Tanner’s terrible handwriting on it. _’Sorry Bond’ _. “And I don’t suppose you’d be willing to tell me where I’d find it, Miss Moneypenny.”__

__He turned with one brow raised to look at her in the doorway. Her body was twisted, shoulder resting against the jamb whilst her hips cocked out, legs crossed at the ankle and arms under her chest. “Tanner’s? No.” She straightened and pushed away from the jamb. “I could tell you where you’d find M’s, but he’s a fan of the cheap stuff. Q, though.”_ _

__“Oh?” He tracked her as she settled against the desk next to him. “Abusing MI6 resources for a fake ID is he?”_ _

__“Come now, James.” She didn’t even duck her head to try to hide her grin. “Be nice and he might even share.”_ _

__He leaned in close and spoke softly in her ear. “Tell me and I might share.” Her laughter was refreshingly light._ _

____

* * *

A few hours later he’d liberated Q’s office of a rather spectacular bottle of Macallan Sherry Oak and left Eve with a slight flush to her cheeks from her share of the pilfered bottle. M apparently hidden away in some parliamentary meeting explained just why Bond had blown up an historic Ukrainian bookshop (or something equally dull). So they’d been free to settle in the more comfortable chairs of his office, trading the bottle back and forth.

“Q must be saving all his pocket money to be able to afford the eighteen year old.”

“James.” Her fingers flicked across his shirt sleeve. “Hush, you shouldn’t insult the man whose drink you’ve stolen.”

“Surely there was someone with a bit more experience available to run Q branch?” He topped up both their glasses.

“It’s a whole new world out there, and youth has the edge.” She crossed her legs and rested the tumbler against her knee. “Eventually they’ll come up with a program or something that’ll have us both out a job.”

“Nonsense.” He ran his hand along her lower leg. “A computer program would never look as good in those heels.”

“James.” Her fingers wrapped around his, stilling his hand.

“Eve.” When he leaned in she turned her head away. 

“There’s a reason this didn’t happen in Shanghai.” A subtle shift widened the gap between them but her fingers stayed clasped around his.

“Oh?”

“Mallory’s copy of your file didn’t mention it, but Tanner kept M’s original one.” He felt himself bristle and tugged his hand from hers. 

“And I suppose you think you know exactly what I want.” He didn’t feel nearly drunk enough for this.

“No.” That gentle look in her eyes made him harden and soften in turn. “But I know what I want, and it’s not whatever this might be.”

He didn’t hang around to hear more; instead he swiftly exited the room with the Macallan firmly grasped.

* * *

“You’ll be lucky to get a functioning pen, let alone an exploding one.”

Bond rolled his head sideways, glancing at the doorway or the tiny little office to see Q scowling at him. He tipped the nearly empty bottle of Macallan at the boy and took a swing straight from the neck, long since past the point of drunkenness to bother with the glass on the desk.

“Don’t you have class?” 

“Next time I’ll give you a bloody Smart Car.”

“That should produce a good bang.” One last slug and he kicked his feet off the desk, slamming the now empty bottle down in time with the thud of his feet. “Pilfered that from daddy’s collection?” The bottle rocked precariously with the swipe of his fingers.

“I’d say you’re a lousy drunk, but we both know you’re the same sober.” Q’s fingers were tight on the door jamb, knuckles whitening with every passing moment. “How’d the hell did you find my supply?”

“Eve’s very generous with secrets.” The chair screeched back as he stood.

Releasing the jamb to cross his arms, Q’s face twisted. “But not generous enough evidently. Smart woman, who knows where you’ve been.” 

Q twitched as Bond lunged forward, hands slamming high on the door frame. “Yet here you are.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” His breath fanned across Q’s face, the whisky had to make it unpleasant. “You owe me a new bottle.”

“Oh, I’m sure I can repay you.” He pushed forward and, with Q refusing to back away, pressed against the slighter man.

“Don’t embarrass yourself double-o. You’ll be useless, you’re practically flammable.”

“That’s never a problem.” It certainly was; he couldn’t even summon up so much as a twitch. “I’m just not into teenagers.”

“Arse. Enjoy your bloody Reliant Robin next time.” He stumbled slightly as Q wrenched himself away and stalked down the hallway.

* * *

“James.”

“Not now, Miss Moneypenny.” He twisted through the doorway only to get caught by her hands grabbing fast to his jacket sleeve. It’d look juvenile to shrug out of it just to get away.

“James,” Eve’s mouth was flat, her eyes annoying soft. “I’m sorry about before.”

“Well-”

“Not that I said no.” She tugged at his jacket forcing him to turn and face her. “But how I said it.”

“If that’s all?”

“No. M’s planning on picking you for a new assignment; I can sway him towards one of the others.”

“I can’t believe.” Taking her wrist, Bond pulled her back through the doorway, closing the door to the firing range. “You read one line from my file and now you think I can’t do my job.” He could feel his jaw muscles jump as his teeth grit. 

“I don’t doubt your professionalism.”

“Then why are you questioning me?”

“I’d ask any agent in a similar position.”

“Easy to say when there aren’t.”

“You know damn well that isn’t true, James.” Her mouth was a hard line, her eyes no longer soft but sharper. “Agent Fields never went out into the field for the same reason.”

“And yet they still sent her.” He moved to leave the room.

“M thought you’d sleep with her.” The door knob was cool under his hand. “That’s why she sent her out to you.” He pinched at his brow, eyes squeezed tightly shut. “M only cared about getting the job done, anything else be damned.” Her hand squeezed his shoulder. “You’re allowed to say no, James.”

“Tell Tanner he can find me in the gym.” He didn’t look back as he left the range.

* * *

The file was surprisingly thin, get the target to reveal the whereabouts of a meeting to discuss a weapons trade. Said target had to make it to the deal to ensure that they’d been able to ensnare all the associated participants, so that ruled out most alternatives. M had clearly realised this, and seeing that the target had a preference for blonds, Bond made sense. Admittedly Mr Bianchi preferred them younger, but he’d had less to work with.

* * *

“Here is your passport.”

Bond flicked open the red book. “Peter Fray?”

“Tanner shot down Ivanna Bone-a lot.” Q slid a small silver case over to him. “Gun and radio as before, try not to lose it this time.”

“Peter Fray?” 

“I don’t suppose you’ve improved your Swedish accent?” His hair curled above his glasses as he looked up through the thick lenses to see Bond’s raised brow. “I suspected as such, so Peter it is. Your tickets.” Q slapped the envelope against his chest.

“Peter Fray?”

“Don’t frown, it makes you look old.”

“Peter Fray?”

“According to Tanner, spy work occasionally involves aliases. It was the easiest one to adapt at short notice.” A thicker file slapped against his chest this time. “Try to memorise as much as possible, who knows what Mr Bianchi considers pillow talk.”

He felt his brow climb higher, that wasn’t just sniping at him. “Not to your tastes, Q?”

“Microphones and recording equipment.” The case was even smaller than for the gun. “No, Bond, I’m not a fan of whoring out agents.”

“Sometimes it’s not just a trigger that needs to be pulled.” He was surprised at how flatly that came out, and Q’s startled look made him appear every bit as young as Bond always mocked him for.

“R’s organising for your clothing to be delivered to your flat.” He watched as Q turned away and back to his computers clearly uncomfortable.

“Thank you.” There didn’t seem anything else to say, and so he gathered his things and left.

* * *

The mission had gone to hell quickly; the problem with seduction was that there was always a risk that not everything made it into the research. Bond enjoyed putting a bullet through Mr Bianchi’s head even if MI6 wanted him brought in alive, even if it had meant the meeting nearly hadn’t gone ahead. He sat hunched in his seat on the plane back; local agents had swarmed on the meeting taking over for him, leaving him to flee before they could force him back into a hospital.

Eve was waiting outside the airport, face pinched with worry. “I need a drink.” She said nothing in return, just opened the door and waited as he struggled to bend and seat himself. As she slid in next to him, he stared out of the window. “Next time, make sure they check for peccadillos more thoroughly.” He felt her hand settle over his, fingers trying to avoid bruises.

* * *

“I’m sorry.” A bottle clunked down on the desk before him, amber liquid sloshing inside. Following the hand clasping the neck up, he met Q’s eyes.

“Don’t worry, Q.” Nevertheless he pulled the bottle closer, the plaster on his wrist exchanged for one of those stiff wraps. 

“It’s my responsibility to make sure you have all the information you need, I should have thought to check for his preferences.”

“Sit down, Q.” He kicked out the chair on the opposite side of the desk, opening a draw to pull out two tumblers. “Drink.” He was as sufficient pouring with his left hand as his right.

The young man slumped into the seat across from him, hands curling around one of the tumblers. James grabbed the other and slammed it back. “Next time you’ll cover all bases.” He watched Q toss his own drink back and poured them both a serving anew.

* * *

“Just a little further now, Bond.” Q’s arm was braced under his, the other resting low as he helped him up the stairs to his flat. It wasn’t the one he’d had before, M really had gotten rid of it, but it was similar enough to do. “Now where are your keys?”

“Right pocket.” Years of drinking had helped him learn not to slur his words, provided of course he didn’t have to talk too much.

Long fingers fumbled though his trouser pocket, pressing against unseen bruises, before emerging with a wallet. “In there.”

The latch was tired enough to need a little jiggle to get it to release, a hard thing to do for Q whilst supporting him. But soon enough Q was guiding him down the hallway, into his bedroom.

Settling him on the bed, he watched Q bend to remove his shoes. “I can-”

“Hush, you can barely walk straight.”

He reached out and clasped Q’s arm as he made to leave after pushing the shoes aside. “You can get under the covers yourself.” He didn’t bother to reply, instead allowing himself to fall back to lie on the bed causing Q to jerk forward and have to brace himself with his other arm. “Bond!”

The kiss that followed was messy, an inelegant meeting of teeth and lips, Q’s glasses pressing uncomfortably into his cheek.

Twisting, Q pulled away. “You don’t like me, Bond.”

“Moneypenny shot me and I like her.”

“Go to sleep, Bond.” The bed dipped as Q pushed up and off. He lay there staring up at the ceiling even after he heard the front door click open and closed once more.

* * *

“Q, James?” Perhaps if he started drinking now it’d drown the hangover. “Q?”

“Your problem is?” Eve looked impeccable as always, even if she was glaring down at him.

“How many drinks made that seem like a good idea?”

“Contrary to how young he looks, Q assures me he is an adult.” She didn’t enjoy the joke. “He seemed like he would have been a reasonably pleasant distraction.”

“And then what? He’s not like you, James.” She settled herself on the edge of his desk by his elbow. “You’re lucky he’s straight. If he’d taken you up on it what would you have done?”

He shrugged. “Enjoyed.”

“This isn’t healthy, James.” Her hand guided his eyes back to hers. “I’m going to tell M to take you off the list for those cases.”

“Don’t.” Eve jumped at the barked word.

“You can’t keep doing this.”

He pushed out of the chair ad towards the door. “Someone has to.”

“But why you? Surely you have to see this is a problem.”

He paused in the doorway, watching Tanner heading down towards him with a folder in hand. “I promised her it wasn’t.” He stepped out and took the file from Tanner.

End

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry that it’s not a happier ending, I’m afraid I just couldn’t get it there.  
> I’m sure Skoda made lovely cars; they’re just not Bond cars. Reliant Robins meanwhile are just the most ridiculous of cars. Also, I know Daniel Craig is left handed, but Bond’s always been played as right, even by DC.


End file.
